


The Idea

by B_Radley



Series: Gandalf's Way [21]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Lives, Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Angst, Beginnings, Bittersweet moment of triumph, Family, Grief/Mourning, Love, Mild spoilers for The Secret Cargo, Multi, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10115711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: 'The' Meeting through the eyes of those who remember a woman who helped make it possible.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Lowest Ebb](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782891) by [B_Radley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley). 



> Spoilers for The Secret Cargo. Just an exploration based upon _The Lowest Ebb._

The Captain stands behind the pilots of the old _Consular_ class. The crew, without exception, seems on edge. She looks across at the larger, sable and red CR-90, keeping station to starboard and slightly aft. Several A-wings circle the little squadron as predators keeping any other, more rapacious killers from their larger consorts.

She turns to her left and sees the larger tender trundling along. Several other A-wings are attached to airlocks.

Along with a Mandalorian _Gauntlet_ -class assault ship and an older, outdated Republic shuttle. Both symbols of the history of this motley assortment. Of the combined heritage of the man who leads them. A man still reeling from the loss of nearly a year. 

The apparent loss of the woman who had done more than most to bring this anticipated moment to fruition. A moment that had begun several days before, with a Chandrilan Senator rising in that body. A woman daring to speak out publicly; daring to label the Emperor a murderer. An action that had meant painful deaths for many others in the past.

A moment in which the multitude of different Rebel cells might come together. A multitude that mostly owed their genesis to that same missing, presumed dead woman.

A woman who their leader refused to believe was dead; left on a dark world as she battled the Emperor's right hand. A woman who he insisted was still present in the depths of the mystical energy field that they shared. When he can touch it himself.

It is a credit to what he means to the crews and fighters in this tiny force, that no one looks askance at him when he quietly says this.

He doubts his own beliefs when he and the ones closest to him are alone. The Captain looks down as she thinks of those doubts. Of doubts that the sister-of-her-heart; one as dear to her as her heart-bonds and that man who waits with his own dark thoughts in the depths of this old ship; doesn't lie dead on a now undetectable world. Murdered by the darkness that they await a call to join a larger fight against.

A ship filled with ghosts and memories. She realizes that both pilots have turned and are looking at her.

One, the niece of the man who is centered in her thoughts; a young woman that she has raised as her own daughter after the loss of her parents; turns and rises. She takes the Captain in her arms, ignoring protocol. 

"I know that you are thinking about them, _Abeeyeh_ ," the young woman says, her gray eyes filled with concern. The Captain smiles at the use of a word from her birth-language. The word for 'mother.'

Dani Faygan picks up the gold talisman from where it hangs around the young woman's neck. A symbol of the hope of her father's world. The hope of that man who is lost in his thoughts, as well. 

"I think that it is a day for it, Elector," she says. The other young woman also rises and places her hands on both of their shoulders. Dani looks into her eyes. She starts when she realizes that the young woman does not wear the amber lens in her right eye. The lens that usually conceals her unique set of eyes; a product of her mother and her father. A product of her engineered birth. She smiles as she sees the royal-blue and amber orbs that gaze at them both. _An engineered birth, but one no less dear._

She pulls the co-pilot into her tight embrace. She feels the young women's eyes tearing against her. "Ahsoka would be so proud, Commander," Talle Tredecima, the co-pilot, says quietly.

Everyone in the small squadron had been buzzing since Senator Mothma had given her speech. Had thrown down her gauntlet to Palpatine. "I know, love," Dani says, her own eyes glistening. She fights to conceal her emotions, knowing that they would spill over from her to the rest of the crew. The gift of her mother's people. Or the curse, in times like these.

A holo pops up on the repeater console by the pilot's position. "Hey, sweet-cheeks," the figure says. Dani rolls her eyes at the former pirate, a grin splitting her azure features. Her heart leaps as it had when they had finally decided to put the past aside and admit their feelings for each other.

When Dani had let go of past losses.

"That's acting-Commodore Sweet-cheeks, to you, _Yeoman Rhayme."_

The smirk, a reminder of their losses and loves, cuts across the way from the old CR-90. "Don't seem to mind when....."

"Lassa, please...," comes a voice from one of the two furiously blushing young women in her arms. The pirate's bronze eyes soften. The look of love that she gives over the holopickup is palpable. "How is she your daughter, Dani? You don't have a blushing bone in your body."

"She is adopted," Dani says with a grin. She sees the captain of the _Opportunity,_ the centerpiece of the feared group of pirates once known as the Blood Bone Order, grow serious. A group of pirates who had embraced the Rebel cause with only a tiny bit of persuasion from that same huntress that they remember. A huntress who is still the crew's quartermaster, an office not filled by anyone else since they had adopted naval ranks, rather than those used by pirates.

"How is he, today, sweetie?" she asks. Dani closes her eyes. "I haven't seen him, love. I have a feeling that he is trying to touch the Force, right now."

Lassa nods, her bronze eyes growing sad. "I know. I hope that he can find her, today of all days."

No one involved in the communication thinks it strange that they are talking about a man who thinks that he can contact someone who everyone else thinks is dead.

Jamelyn Blackthorn, the Elector-Presumptive of the Five Brothers of Corellia, smiles at her mother and her dear friend. _Everyone who is involved in this communication has faith._

Faith in both their Commodore, and in the powerful warrior known as the first Fulcrum. 

A light beeps on another console. The large Korun standing over the technician turns and says formally, "Incoming transmission, Captain." He smiles. "It's the _Ghost."_

Dani shares his smile, as she thinks of a new family that they had met a few months before. In the midst of all of them reeling from the loss of Ahsoka Tano. She nods. "Very well, Boge. Pass the word for the Commodore."

"No need," comes a quiet voice from behind them. A voice with the drawling inflections of his heritages - both of them. 

A voice that causes all on the bridge to stand or straighten. He waves his hand. Boge M'Faru, the XO of the small ship, nods to him and encourages everyone except those in the conn area to turn back to their work.

Jame Blackthorn, his green eyes unreadable, walks over to the trio standing there. 

The three women pull him into their embrace. After several moments, he breaks free. "I'm okay, loves," he whispers.

He looks at the holopickup. "Morning, Lassa. How is your world today?"

"Not bad, boss," she says. He nods. "Put it through to everyone, Boge," he says, "this is everybody's fight."

The main holopickup flares. The first impression is one of red hair and blue eyes. Dani looks down. Blue eyes that had captivated one close to her at one time.

Blue eyes that had flashed with anger whenever her half-brother's name was mentioned.

They listen to her speech. Of her declaration of the fight against darkness. A renewed, organized fight. Of her resignation from the Senate. 

Of her abandonment, for now, of trying to work within the system. Within the deadlocked Imperial senate. Of trying to debate an 'executioner' as she had called him, out of existence. 

Of her rejuvenated, direct fight to restore the Republic.

A system that had its flaws, as Blackthorn and most of his crew can attest. Blackthorn thinks of that old system. The system that had nearly destroyed his hunt-sister, the warrior that is foremost in everyone's thoughts. The predecessor of one that had destroyed his first family and hers. 

A family that there are only tiny threads left of. Including two on that tiny Corellian freighter that Mothma speaks from.

He turns and looks at the crew as the transmission ends. "Well, I know where I am going. What about the rest of you?" he asks. "What does Garm say, Jame?" Lassa asks quietly. Garm Bel Iblis, former Senator from Corellia. Son of the Dragon of Corellia. Half-brother to Dani. Cousin to Jame.

Rival of Mon Mothma over the philosophy of this struggle. "I am not giving two shits about what Katana Leader thinks," Blackthorn says, the vehemence in his voice raw. He calms. "He told me to do what I thought was best."

Lassa nods. "Well, bud, seeing that you are the ranking naval officer in this here Rebellion, at least for another five minutes, I say we jump off of the cliff." Her eyes tear slightly. "I would follow you anywhere, Jame Blackthorn. Just like I followed your love, before." She shakes her head and smiles. "Just like I will still follow her, hunt-brother."

Another pair of figures comes up onto the squadron net. One, bears the face of millions of Blackthorn's brothers. His salt-and-pepper hair marks him as a survivor. His eyes light on the young woman who bears his face, as well as the love of his life's. The man next to him bears the same green eyes as their squadron commander.

"Your infantry and commando force will take that cliff with you, nephew," Fenn Shy'sa says. The large man beside him is thoughtful. He looks into the pickup. "Let's go, Tal," the man once known by a number says, using the name that he had first known his General by. He smiles as he uses a phrase from another of their long-gone past. "Time to keep the faith. The _Akuls_ will follow you. We bear that name for you both, brother."

Fenn nods. "As do your Mando charmers, Jame. Your Hunters and Huntresses."

Jame can only nod. He looks at Talle, who is looking at her father. "Lieutenant Tredecima," he says formally, "Call in the BARCAP." She smiles and nods, turning towards another console. He shifts his gaze to the XO, his shaven head gleaming in the low light. "Mr. M'Faru, signal the squadron. _Execute hyperspace jump to designated coordinates."_ Blackthorn turns slightly. "Bosun's Mate. Sound General Quarters. I want the big ships at Condition One and the fighters at Ready-1 when we revert." He smiles. "Wouldn't want to jump in with our asses hanging out."

There is a flurry of activity at his words. He turns and looks out at the stars in the viewport. Dani Faygan moves to his side as he takes his place behind the pilots. She can tell that he does not see the stars.

She opens her resonance. She feels the warmth flowing from him. Warmth tempered with uncertainty and pain, but sharpened by faith. Faith in his hunt-sister and her incredible ability to survive, as well as faith in his birthright - that ancient, binding energy field.

The stars shift to streaks.

~+~+~+~+~+

The crews of Dragon Squadron stare out in awe at the sight before them as they revert. Dozens of ships, of all sizes and types float before them, centered on a small, diamond shaped freighter with two Y-Wing bombers attached to the airlocks.

Captain Jame Blackthorn, commodore of this small squadron, and for the next sixty seconds or so, the highest ranking officer in the Rebel fleet, stares at them. He is not filled with awe. He can only feel satisfaction and joy of the realization of many dreams.

Not the least of that beautiful, strong warrior who holds his heart. The Fulcrum. The first to bear that name, and to his mind, the only one that matters. The tenuous link between these fractious, widespread cells, that now hold station in common purpose. The recruiter of many of them. 

The bond that held these cells together.

His smile is bittersweet. "Commodore," M'Faru says. "Signal from Flag. _Commodore repair on board."_

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant. But you might want to ask which one is Flag," he says with a grin. M'Faru returns his grin. As he turns to his console, a holo again floats above the projector. 

A holo of a beautiful Naboo, her own face etched with pain and loss. "Hey, Hero," she says. "Knew you would be the pain-in-the-ass. Much like someone else we know."

"Always, Last Word," he says to Nola Vorrserrie, another friend and fellow warrior. A friend as well as another sister to their huntress. The woman who for many of the early years, had lived and died while supporting Fulcrum; watching her take huge risks for an idea. His eyes look into her dark gaze across the stars. A gaze that he knows has already cried its tears out, years ago. "Or should I say, Colonel Vorrserrie," he says, spying the insignia.

She rolls her eyes. "They just had room on the ship, Jame," she says softly. "Come on over to the _Tantive IV._ We have a job for you and your reprobates."

"Oh, yeah? I guess all is forgiven?"

A deep voice is heard in the pickup. "I wouldn't go that far, Captain," the voice says, "I guess that I just had to find an operations officer whose jaw you wouldn't break."

"I am not a guarantee of that, General," Nola says. _But at least I have the good sense not to voice an idea that Ahsoka Tano might have defected in his presence._

"Come on over, Tempest," she says, using his original codename. "We'll tell you the job when the rest of your ships get here."

He is about to raise the question when there is another shift and a half-dozen ships come to a stop near his.

Katana Squadron. Named for an ancient weapon. A collection of ships under the nominal command of the former Senator from Corellia.

 _This should be interesting,_ he thinks.

His smile is bittersweet as he continues to send his thoughts through the Force.

To the faint, blue-orange light.

~+~+~+~+~+

On a desolate, hidden world, a warrior opens her eyes and comes away from one in a seemingly endless series of meditations.

She has learned much, but quelling her impatience at being trapped on this world when her loved ones needed her was not a lesson she had learned.

Or at least not had taken to.

A smile flows to her features. A smile that shows the predatory teeth of her people.

A smile that was one of the favorite expressions of the green and gold-tinged purple presence in her head. The presence that brings the smile.

Her eyes widen as she sees what that light sees. A huge fleet of ships. All standing together in the space of his mind.

 _This is all yours, Runt,_ the presence says. _You built this, as much as any of these high muckety-mucks that I am about to meet._

 _Maybe so, Bait,_ she replies. _But it was their idea. I just did what I could to make it a reality._

Her blue eyes tear. _It is up to you, my Covenant,_ she thinks, using his ancient title. The title of a Protector of his world. _It is up to you and my other loved ones to make sure that the idea flourishes._

She feels the sadness and anguish. _Don't know if I can, without you here, love,_ the presence thinks.

 _I am right here for you. Just a thought away. Until I can get out of this mess I am in._ The tears flow freely. _Just as you are there to help me find my way back, my beloved. My hunt-brother._

Both presences are silent as they focus on one another. As they think of that day. As well as this idea. An idea worth fighting for.

An idea born from one's sweat, blood, and tears. One that is fostered by many others.

An idea born of light, from darkness.

An idea of freedom.


End file.
